About Beasts
by thosestinkynords
Summary: Important information: Dovahkiin is a female Khajiit; Rated M for possible future events. Khajiit have never been welcomed in Skyrim. They are eyed warily by most of the Nords, as they are just so different. Kesh has been left alone so many times; forsaken, abandoned and broken. Will she discover her fate on her journey in Skyrim?
1. Prologue

_**Please note that I am not a native speaker. I try to give my best, though. Don't be too harsh.~**_

_Characters in this story created by Bethesda. Kesh is a character created by me. No copyright infringement intended._

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**Prologue**

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'Kesh. Ma'ra Kesh's the name.' Annoyed by all the questions, she avoided to look the guard in his eyes, if he wanted to find a reason to arrest her, he would. They always did. It wouldn't matter to the guards whether she had actually done something in order to go to jail, or not. The Khajiit showed her pointy fangs and hissed.  
The air was as cold as ice. A sharp wind blew through her fur and she shivered. They had her wait in front of the gate for at least ten minutes by now, asking her many unpleasant things, only to tell her she couldn't get in. She was quite sure of that.  
The two guards positioned themselves in front of the large wooden gate, both had a hand at the hilt of their weapon. 'Fools. I'm unarmed and completely vulnerable,' she grimaced as she looked down at herself.  
Shortly after she had crossed the border to Skyrim, she had been unlucky enough to encounter a group of drunk imperial soldiers. They had harassed her, pushed her around and then she had taken a blow by one of them. Then another one. She couldn't remember what happened afterwards, but she woke up later to find herself bare. They had taken away everything she had, leaving her bruised, probably with a broken rib or two.  
An elder woman had found her there on the road. She had tended her wounds, had given her food. It was what the gods expected her to do, whether she trusted her race or not, the elder woman had told her harshly. She had at least provided the young Khajiit with some simple linen clothes before she had to leave.  
'Can't recall a name like that, can you?' The taller one of the guards turned his head, questioning his companion. He had a rasping voice and it was a pain to the Khajiit's sensitive ears. He whirled the big key of the city gate around his index-finger, showing it off. 'Of course,' she thought angrily.  
'Nah,' the other one replied, scratching his big belly. 'Those cats all got weird names, but never heard of that one.' He examined the feline woman and noticed the long claws at her fingertips. Khajiit had no 'normal' fingernails, nor did the Argonians. It made him feel threatened somehow.  
Claws could easily rip apart human flesh, he mused worriedly, but so could his sword. He tightened his grip around the hilt, just in case. Not that a cat with such a famished appearance could be a real threat, but one never knew.  
'The Jarl prohibits _all_ Khajiit to enter the city. No exceptions to make.' The tall guard recited in an official manner and smirked. They were all just negligible animals to him. He didn't really understand what they wanted in Skyrim, anyway.  
'Which I can only support. These cats convey drugs into our city. Any halfway-decent person is aware of that.' A noble Redguard who had overheard their conversation passed the Khajiit, smiling arrogantly at her. He nodded to the guards and was let through immediately.  
The young woman sighed. 'What if I had important news for the Jarl?'  
'Like what?' the tall guard mocked her. He looked down at the Khajiit, clearly amused. 'Higher skooma prices this year?'  
'No. News about a dragon. It destroyed Helgen and might be coming this way soon. There is no time.' By the memory of it, her heat started beating faster and she felt a lump in her throat.  
The guard snorted in response, but his companion noticed the panic in the her eyes and pulled his friend aside. 'Listen... I'll take her to Dragonsreach.' He hesitated.  
'She might be telling the truth!' He felt quite uneasy at that thought.  
'Psh, how would _you_ know. Besides, since when do we trust a Khajiit just like that? Might as well let in the filthy caravan camping down the road.' The tall Nord eyed the fellow guard suspiciously. To him, the entire story was ridiculous: no one had seen a dragon since Tiber Septim. 'Suddenly feeling generous, eh? No exceptions!' he frowned upon him and ground his teeth loudly.  
'By Talos, would you just stop now?' The bulky shaped guard rolled his eyes, turned around and grabbed the Khajiit's arm, oblivious of the fact that it hurt her. She flinched at his grip and he quickly opened the gate without letting her go.  
'Fine, have it your way,' the other guard grumbled, returning to his post.  
'You stay close to me,' the obese Nord huffed, not paying attention to his colleague. 'I'll take you to the Jarl. Try to steal anything and I'll cut your dirty paws off.'


	2. Chapter I: Of Honey and Sand

**Of Honey and Sand**

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'Another drink?' Hulda asked her coarsely, collecting used mugs from the bar.  
'Yeah, more mead.' Kesh observed wearily that it became harder for her to form the words with each cup, but shrugged off the thought. She nipped from her freshly filled mug. It tasted of pure honey. The Khajiit loved the warm, golden shade of the mead. It reminded her of the sands of the desert, her home.  
Home.  
She felt a tear running down the short fur of her cheek and closed her eyes. She could never go back and feel the warmth of the desert sand under her feet again. Even the sun in Skyrim seemed too far away to warm up her fur. Kesh tried to fight the dark feeling that was growing inside her, but couldn't hold it back any longer. She let the misery consume her in the end, let the hollowness spread. Her head dropped down on her arms and she buried her face in her warm fur.  
'Think ya had enough for now.'  
A big man with a soft voice placed a hand on her arm, sitting down on a bar chair next to her. Kesh didn't make a move and tightened the grip around her mug. Maybe that guy would leave her alone if she just didn't react. She sought no company here.  
One of her ears twitched as the man had obviously not left her. 'C'mon. Let go of that cup now,' he spoke to her with a lowered voice. The woman slightly moved her head so she could sneak a peek at who the person next to her was. The man who had taken a seat by her side had a dark face, mostly because it was dirt-stained. Black warpaint around his bright blue eyes adorned his face and he glanced at her with a warm smile.  
Kesh sniffled but didn't make an attempt to lift her head. She blinked a few times, trying to rid herself of a new tear that she could feel coming up.  
The man tilted his head. 'What's causing you so much trouble?' he asked her, as he managed to free the cup from her strong grip. It didn't require much strength of him, though. Kesh was rather unwilling to let go of it, but didn't protest anyway. 'Whatever,' she thought to herself and exhaled deeply. She wasn't really going to answer him, she just sat there, staring into space.  
'Never seen you in town before. You belong to that caravan?'  
'No.'  
'But you're a Khajiit.'  
Her jaw dropped in disbelief. 'So I gotta belong outside, with the other 'pussycats', right?' she spat out, her dark fur stood on end. Kesh wanted to leave, now, but then she noticed the truly upset look in the man's face and froze in place.  
'That's not what I meant, I-' The man looked away, scratching the back of his head. He sighed. 'I'm sorry.' Awkwardly he fumbled around with the mug, thereby almost dropping it. He glanced back at her. Kesh met his eyes, which now looked just as sad as hers.  
She sat back down, pondering whether she might have over-reacted a bit, but her head felt so heavy and her mind was dull from all the mead she had. That big oaf had done her no harm.  
'I'm sorry,' he repeated. 'I ain't good at this.' The man who's face now turned fairly red with embarrassment tried to hide it, drinking from the cup that was formerly hers. Kesh assumed he simply forgot about that.  
The man slowly turned the mug around in his hands, gazing at his reflection. 'Usually my brother's more one for the talking.' He said this more to himself.  
Kesh suddenly felt sorry. That big brutish looking Nord actually tried to be... nice to her, something she hadn't yet experienced in Skyrim. He also seemed to struggle a lot to find the right words now.  
'I'm just curious,' he started, frowning. 'Never actually talked to a Khajiit before...'  
Kesh moved her chair closer. Maybe some company wasn't too bad this night.  
'So... what can this one tell you?' she asked him gently and caught herself smiling a little.  
The big guy frowned again, thinking it over for quite a long time. 'Tell me your name,' he brought out then. 'Mine's Farkas.'  
The Khajiit hesitated, but then decided to answer. 'They call me Kesh.' She tugged at her sleeve for a moment, not sure if she should explain. 'It's my surname, actually. My ancestors were the first family to live in a small town in Elsweyr. 'Kesh vasa-khaj' it is called today.'  
The Nord gave her a puzzled look. He kind of liked the way she rolled her r's when she spoke, though.  
'Oh, right. He doesn't understand,' the Khajiit gulped, knowing that this would be certainly causing her pain again.  
'It means: 'under the sand'.'  
Kesh tried to force it back, but she couldn't breathe and felt that she was about to cry. She covered her face with her hands. 'I'm so sorry,' she sobbed faintly. The young Khajiit finally managed to take a deep breath.  
'It still gets to me. My town, my home- it was destroyed by a great sandstorm.'  
The words. They started to return to her head, from the deep abysses of her mind. A chanting began pulsating in her thoughts and sparkling on her tongue. She tried to swallow it, push it away. Forcefully she gritted her teeth, Kesh just couldn't let them out. Not again.  
Three little words, almost causing her to lose her mind.  
'I lost part of my family, too.' Farkas's statement pulled her back to reality. He was gazing at his mead in abstraction while he talked. 'I've found a new one here in Whiterun, though.' He emptied the cup and waved for Hulda to get him some more of the mead. The 'Bannered Mare' was quite busy tonight and Hulda, the bartender, scurried around to refill all the drinks.  
Kesh eyed the big guy carefully. _He_ didn't seem too troubled with the subject.  
'So,' she began hesitantly, not sure how to continue.  
'What's your wife like?'  
Farkas choked on his mead.  
'Wife?' he coughed, trying to catch his breath again. The big Nord chuckled. 'Nah, I ain't got no wife.' He had another sip of his drink. 'Women don't tend to stay with me in the long run... Was just talkin' about my shield-brothers and sisters up in Jorrvaskr. They're what I call my family today.'  
'Your what? In what?' Kesh didn't understand a word he said.  
'Never heard of the Companions before?' Farkas asked her unbelievingly.  
The Khajiit shook her head. 'I come from a desert far away, remember?' She tried to smile at him.  
He examined her with a straight face. Kesh felt a little uneasy, for she didn't have any idea what this was about.  
'You look strong,' he said eventually. 'A tad hungry to my taste, maybe, but strong. Think ya could wield a sword, Khajiit?'  
'Actually,' Kesh shot a glance at her new friend, 'I used to work as a jihatt back in Elsweyr, since I lost my home.' She stared bashfully at the ground. 'That is almost as worthless as being a thief, but I had no other choice.' She sighed. 'Nothing to be proud of, but I certainly know how to handle a weapon.'  
Farkas nodded compassionately, ' 'tis allright, we all have our past.'  
Again, he placed a hand on her shoulder, a wolfish grin on his face. 'Come and join us in Jorrvaskr these days. I'll be expecting you.'

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_-Wow that's not too bad for my first review ever (on my first story ever, lol)! I'll make sure to correct as many mistakes as possible over time, thanks for reading and taking your time!_


	3. Chapter II: Pride and Prejudice

**Pride and Prejudice**

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'Hey, watch it!' Farkas yelled at his brother. In pain he dropped his great-sword and clutched at his shoulder. He stumbled backwards a bit. Vilkas instantly sheathed his weapon and removed his brother's hand from the injury. 'Let me have a look.'  
Farkas cursed under his breath as his brother creased his face into a frown. The fabric of his shirt was torn and already blood-stained, The hit of Vilkas's axe had left a gaping wound.  
'Sit down here and press some fabric to the cut,' Vilkas ripped a piece off of his own shirt and handed it to his twin. 'I'll get Tilma, she's gotta stitch that.' Farkas grimaced, he hated stitching.  
Vilkas ran off and wondered why his brother had been so distracted, what had caused him to swallow one stroke after another. Surely Farkas wasn't the smartest person on nirn, but he _never_ let down his guard in a fight. The twins were a seasoned team and when sparring together, they never had to wear a full set of armor. Maybe they'd have to reconsider that now. This irritated Vilkas, because a severe injury prevented one from training, which was never good. He hoped this wouldn't put his brother out of action for too long in the end.

Farkas threw his head back and contorted his face with pain. He really despised stitching. Most of the time he got out of having it done to a cut, but now it seemed necessary.  
Tilma opened a small bottle whose content smelled of pure alcohol. She poured a little bit on a piece of cotton and applied it to Farkas's shoulder. He gave a whimper of pain and writhed. It burned like hell on the already aching arm.  
'Don't be such a wimp,' His brother taunted. Vilkas held the injured arm tight, so Tilma, who was the companions' general servant, could work on the wound. A few of the whelps stopped by and watched Farkas, snickering. He didn't seem to recognize them, though. The elder woman shooed them away and after that didn't pay any attention to the big warrior's lamentation. She really asked herself why the two brothers out of all companions would rather endure such a painful procedure than just drinking a potion or visiting a healer. She shook her head over their false pride and continued treating the injury.  
'And... done,' she said, after a sheer endless period of time. Tilma cut off the thin tendon she used for stitching the wound with a small knife and bandaged the strong Nord's arm.  
Farkas slumped down on the spot. 'I need a drink,' he groaned and closed his eyes in relief, for the patching up was finally over.  
'Just be more careful next time, boys.' The old woman gathered up her materials. 'And go easy on that arm of yours for the next few days, Farkas,' she called over her shoulder and left.  
Vilkas laughed at the sight of his pretty exhausted looking brother. 'Now let's get you a strong mead you big wuss.'  
'I'm no wuss,' Farkas grunted, heaving himself up. His shoulder was still very sore and he couldn't really move his left arm, even though it was all stitched up now. Vilkas snorted, but he knew better than to tease his twin brother too much, because at last his other arm was still fully functional.

They headed down to the 'Bannered Mare' and Farkas took a seat next to his brother near the fire place. He stared off into the flickering light, the pain in his shoulder deadening his mind. His brother ordered the strongest mead they offered at the inn and watched Farkas for a while as they waited.  
'Could you tell me why that happened?' he asked him inquisitively. 'Do we need to wear full armor now for the simple training?'  
Farkas grumbled something. Right now he wasn't capable of wrapping his mind around his brother's questions. He received his mead and emptied the bottle in one go.  
Vilkas was a little worried. It almost seemed to him as if his brother had been... thinking hard about something this morning - and something of the kind didn't occur all too frequently.  
'A girl?' he asked Farkas who was still gazing into the flames.  
He huffed. It took a long time for him to respond. 'Yeah,' he said slowly, 'but not what you're thinkin'.'  
Farkas turned silent again and his brother sighed.  
'It's like pulling teeth with you. Can't you just tell me what is going on?'  
The big Nord groaned and rolled his eyes at his brother, for he really disliked it when he was quizzed by him like that.  
'I dunno,' he said. 'It's that Khajiit- that Cat-Person.' The pain was really blocking his mind. 'Met her here yesterday. Kinda felt sorry for her... she tried to drown some trouble with the mead.' He used his healthy arm to order another drink.  
'You know the cats can't be trusted,' His brother reminded him.  
'Yeah, told me that before. Think she's different, though.' Farkas eyed him, a grim expression on his face. Vilkas couldn't tell whether it came from the pain or because he had probably angered his twin.  
'And what makes you think so?'  
'Well,' Farkas growled, 'the Khajiit aren't normally allowed to enter the city, are they?'  
Vilkas nodded slowly. 'True,' he admitted and drank up his bottle of mead, too. 'So what exactly is the matter now?'  
'Hm. I invited her to Jorrvaskr to join us, talked to the old man about it.' Farkas yawned, the pain in his shoulder made him sleepy. Or maybe it was the alcohol, he wasn't sure. Maybe both. 'He said I could test her skills when she'd arrive.' The Nord let out an angered groan again, thinking of his arm. 'And now I can't!'  
Vilkas quickly worked over the possibilities in his mind. Perhaps he could persuade Kodlak to change his mind and think this through again. They already had an elf in their group and to the grim warrior this was by far enough. Although, he had to concede this to the Dunmer: he could fight like a true Nord. No fancy magic, just blade to blade. Still, he disliked the idea of a Khajiit possibly joining them. Most of them were thieves and sneaky creatures in general.  
'You don't think it's a good idea, do ya?'  
Vilkas shook his head, 'No, not really.'  
His thoughts suddenly darted back to a rather unpleasant event in his life. Both their lives. When they were but little kids, their mother had brought them into the deep forest surrounding Falkreath - one of the smaller cities of Skyrim - and had abandoned them there. Vilkas was aware of the fact that they had actually been way too young to even know about this, but on the other hand – his memory had always been impressive. The twins had been scared and at sundown they had become completely lost in the woods. Vilkas recalled a few black-robed men who had suddenly appeared, taking the two brothers with them. They had ended up in a cold, dark cave then. A male Khajiit with a black cowl had tied the two little boys up, and began throwing strange spells at them, chanting eerily. Every day he had given them the promise they could soon return to their mother, but the twins would never see her again.  
This horror had continued for days, no matter how much the children had cried or begged for mercy, the Khajiit necromancer just had not let them go. That was, until one day a man with the armor of the wolf had broken into the cave to slay the black-robed robed wizards, including the Khajiit who had tortured the little children. The warrior had rescued the boys and later came to be the man who they called their father. Vilkas knew for sure that his brother was oblivious to all of this. Their father Jergen had never told them the full story, but the smart Nord knew about it anyway. Since then he loathed the Khajiit for what they were to him: gruesome beasts, liars and deceitful creations of the gods.  
At this moment he was boiling with rage, but focused on suppressing his frenzy for the sake of peace and quiet. Farkas clearly couldn't remember any of it and Vilkas was far from willing to tell him. If his brother had blocked out that memory, it was probably for his own good.  
Farkas now darted an angry glance at his twin, but it didn't impress Vilkas a lot. He shifted his weight on the log in front of the warming fire.  
'We'll just see if your precious lute's gonna make it through the first night.'  
'She wouldn't steal.' The big warrior didn't like Vilkas's prejudice concerning the feline-folk.  
The two brothers exchanged a hasty glance, they rarely disagreed on a subject, but when they did, it always formed a deep chasm between them.  
'I'm just saying the Jarl wouldn't prohibit them from coming into town without reasons.'  
'You always say not to mess with politics,' Farkas muttered angrily.  
Vilkas tried hard not to loose his temper. 'This is not about politics, fool. It's a matter of... trust. The companions are a group that fights for honor and for glory. See, I simply cannot trust the Khajiit, they have no honor within them!'  
Farkas remained stubborn. 'That's what you _say_. But where's the honor in judging someone by their race, brother?' with that said he stood up and left the inn.

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_I know that it seems to be common lore that Farkas and Vilkas were rescued from a group of necromancers by Jergen, but I personally have no clue if this official TES-lore. (I know it's sad) So I just decided to go with it and partly take up the issue in this chapter.  
_


End file.
